


Super Rich Kids

by ziammehome



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Hurt/Comfort, Implied abuse, M/M, Underage Drinking/Drugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-12
Updated: 2013-04-12
Packaged: 2017-12-08 07:00:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/758435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ziammehome/pseuds/ziammehome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Liam is transfered to Westerley Academy, boarding school for the elite, attended only by the filthy rich. Liam doesn't care about anyone, but a chance encounter with the mysterious Zayn Malik changes that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Super Rich Kids

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by the song Super Rich Kids by Frank Ocean. I listened to it and wanted to write a fic about filthy rich kids with kind of messed up lives :)

Liam watched through the car window as the driver brought them through the tall iron gates. In the distance he could see the school, a series of sprawling hundred year old buildings surrounded by immaculate grounds. He turned up the volume on his headphones and closed his eyes, leaning back against the seat and ignoring the scenery they passed. It wasn't anything he hadn't seen before, once you've seen one boarding school you've seen them all. His parents hadn't come to drop him off, Liam was surprised they had even been in the same room long enough to decide to send him here. Now his father was back in their house in London, his mother at their house in the country, and Liam was arriving at his new school alone. His parents hadn't been able to stand each other since Liam was 14, around the same time he quit the football team and started getting drunk with Andy every weekend. Not that they had exactly been a happy family before then. Liam thought he was about 8 when he noticed the constant stream of his father's mistresses, wondering why his father went on so many trips and came back smelling like funny perfume with lipstick on his shirts. If his mother cared, she didn't show it, and not just about his father's infidelity. She was a tough woman, all smiles and glamour in front of the cameras, but stone and sharp words behind closed doors.

Since the split, they minded their own business in their separate houses, and didn't pay much attention to what Liam did tucked away at boarding school, out of their sight and their responsibility. But when Andy was caught passed out drunk on his father's boat with a pound of cocaine, Liam's parents decided to have one last conversation and came to the conclusion that Liam needed better influences in his life, that it would reflect poorly on their family if Liam was associating with people like that. Of course it wasn't actually about Liam's well being, if they were concerned about that they had missed the boat a long time ago, Liam thought bitterly. No, they were concerned about their family's image, about the public eye. So they pulled him out of his old boarding school and sent him to a new one a few hundred miles away. Liam wouldn't really miss much about his old school. He mostly hung out with his friends because they were there, because Danielle was good for the occasional fuck and Andy was generous with his weed, and if he was going to get drunk it might as well be with the same people every night. Leaving had been easy, Liam had stopped caring about things like that three years ago. 

The car pulled up in front of an austere looking building and Liam exited, greeted by a man in an expensive suit bearing the crest of the school. "Welcome to Westerley, Mr. Payne," the man said, and Liam shook his hand cordially, not extending a greeting of his own. "I'm Mr. Crawfield, headmaster," he introduced. "Right this way to my office, please," he continued, gesturing to the driver to take Liam's luggage inside, and ushering Liam into a stuffy foyer. Liam wasn't impressed, the marbled floors and wood paneled walls were nothing new to him. He followed Mr. Crawfield into his office, taking a seat across from a heavy oak desk. "So, Mr. Payne, we're happy to have you here! I trust that you will be able to catch up quite easily on the curriculum you've missed so far," he said, glancing down at Liam's folder. Liam knew his parents had shelled out a small fortune to be able to transfer him mid-semester. "I see that you were quite a valuable member of the football team at your last school," Mr. Crawfield noted, looking up at Liam. Liam didn't respond. "You know we've got quite an impressive team here, would you consider playing again?" Mr. Crawfield asked hopefully. "I'll have to consider it," Liam said. He knew he wouldn't. After a brief chat Crawfield showed Liam to his room. It was in another building, across a green square of grassy courtyard. They walked up dark wood stairs, passing portraits of people Liam didn't recognize or especially care about. They arrived at a heavy door and Crawfield knocked loudly on it. It was opened a few seconds later by a boy about Liam's height with curly dark hair. "Mr. Styles!" Crawfield greeted with a nod, "This will be your new roommate, Liam Payne." Liam could see passed Harry that his luggage had already arrived, piled at the end of a large canopy bed. Harry stepped aside for them to enter, and Crawfield gave Liam a brief tour of the room and en suite bathroom before leaving, handing Liam a thick folder as he exited. 

He turned and faced his roommate. "Harry," the boy said, extending Liam a hand. "Liam" he answered, taking Harry's hand. He began unpacking after the simple introduction, aware of Harry's eyes on him but uninterested in making conversation. Harry must have sensed this, because he returned to a book he had apparently been reading before Liam arrived, sprawled across his bed surrounded by notebooks. Liam went through his suitcases, piling sweaters into drawers and hanging suits in the closet. He surveyed the room, taking in the polished furniture, the large canopy beds and marble bathroom. It was about the same as his old dorm had been, the only difference being the view out his window. Mountains or lake, it didn't matter to Liam. "I'm going to dinner in a few minutes," Harry said, pulling Liam out of his thoughts. "You're welcome to come with me." Liam nodded, and headed towards the bathroom. "Although I should warn you," Harry added, causing Liam to turn back around, "If you're looking for someone to introduce you to the social scene, or whatever, I'm not your guy. I mostly keep to myself," Harry said, not looking up from his notebook this time. "Yeah, I could have guessed," Liam said, taking in Harry's ratty sneakers and wrinkled collar. He had spent enough of his life around money to know when he wasn't looking at it. "What are you doing here, anyway?" Liam asked. If Harry found his question rude, he didn't let on. Liam figured he was probably used to it going to school here. "Scholarship," Harry answered, looking up at Liam. "My family owns a bakery. We're not poor...but we definitely wouldn't be able to afford this place." Harry didn't sound like he was looking for pity, he was just answering Liam's question. Liam just shrugged, and turned to enter the bathroom. It seemed like Harry would be a fine roommate, he was quiet and he didn't bug Liam, at least so far. 

Liam ended up skipping dinner that night, not hungry and not interested in playing the new kid. Instead he took a long shower, crawled between the covers and turned on his ipod. He didn't remember when he started falling asleep that way, listening to music loud enough to drown out his own thoughts. He heard Harry come in and turn on his desk light, but it was dim enough to leave Liam unbothered, and he was quickly asleep. 

Liam awoke the next morning to the sound of his alarm, alerting him to the start of his first day of classes. He rolled out of bed groggily, noticing that Harry was already gone. He dressed quickly, putting on a familiar uniform of slacks, shirt, and tie. The only thing that had changed was the logo on the sweater he pulled over his shirt, but even that made little difference to him. He checked his schedule before he left the room, refusing to be one of those students wandering the halls pathetically clutching their timetable and campus map. He only stopped by breakfast briefly, grabbing a muffin and eating it quickly, not wanting to hang about the cafeteria. His first class was math, a subject Liam was good at but had almost no interest in. The same could be said for most subjects, actually. He was smart, having been educated at relatively prestigious schools almost his entire life, but he didn't have the motivation to actually care. Grades were just another A, and if it wasn't an A, it would be an A with a phone call from the right person and the exchanging of a small sum of money. It wasn't a system that exactly fostered a love of learning. So Liam drifted through his first day of classes, paying half attention to the material, paying even less attention to the sea of faces around him. His last class of the day was English, and he quickly found a sear near the back and sunk down, already looking forward to getting back to his dorm. Not that anything was waiting for him there either, but at least he would be alone. 

He was waiting for class to start, watching the students file in with mild disinterest, when one of them caught his eye. He was slight, with tan skin and dark hair. He had the same air about him that most of Liam's peers did, one of money and privilege and the slightest hint of boredom. Liam watched as he walked through the aisles, choosing a seat a few rows away from Liam. He was wearing the same uniform as all the other boys, but it looked especially sharp on his delicate frame. Liam quickly pulled his eyes away, not wanting to be caught staring and unwilling to admit even to himself that he was interested in something here. Liam kept his head turned forward for the rest of the lesson, without any more glances towards the dark haired boy. He left class as soon as it ended, eager for the sanctuary of his room. The rest of the day passed quickly; Harry only returned to the room a few minutes before dinner, leaving Liam alone most of the afternoon. "Where do you go all day?" Liam asked as they left for dinner, "I mean, you were gone when I woke up and just got back..." he continued, following Harry down to the dining hall. "I was at the library before class, and then went back after class," Harry answered casually, as if it were normal. Liam didn't hate libraries, he kind of liked the quiet solitude, but he would never spend the majority of his day there. "Holy shit, why?" Liam asked. "If I lose my scholarship, I have to leave," Harry answered with a shrug. "Right," Liam replied, effectively ending the conversation. 

Dinner was brief and relatively painless. The food was good, in a school like this they can afford to serve the best, and Harry and Liam sat in silence for most of the time. Liam surveyed the hall as he ate, taking in the tables of boys. Some groups were rowdy, he could clearly spot which table was the territory of the jocks. He eyed their gym bags and school sweatshirts, remembering the time when that would have been his table, when those things were familiar to him. But his eyes moved past without a second glance, quickly returning them to the plate in front of him. Harry asked how his first day was, but didn't press for details when Liam didn't offer them. He thought they were going to get along fine, absentmindedly hoping that Harry wasn't expecting them to be best friends or anything. He and Harry returned to their room after dinner, and Harry settled in at his desk with a mountain of school books beside him. Liam flipped absentmindedly through some of his coursework, completing things that were due tomorrow while largely ignoring everything else. He laid back on his bed and watched the sky out his window, fading from burnt orange to dusky purple to black. He knew that it was beautiful, but the appreciating, the feeling of it eluded him. It was just the sky, and it faded from black to blue and back again every night and every morning. If there was a time when he had been moved by the changing colors, it was gone now. 

Liam didn't know how long he laid awake before finally giving in, fishing his ipod out of his pants pocket where they lay discarded on the floor. He turned up the sound and closed his eyes, willing sleep to come despite the early hour. It couldn't be later than 8, but he was exhausted. No, not exhausted. Weary. He felt weary, like he had for the past few days, months, years, craving a rest that would not come. He drifted off into a shallow sleep, but it was restless, and he awoke a few hours later, sweating under the covers of his bed. He kicked them off and checked his watch. It was just after midnight. He needed air, needed to move. He felt like he was suffocating, restless but no more well rested than before. He pulled on jeans and a sweater and slipped quietly out the door, careful not to wake Harry or forget his key. 

He didn't know where he was going, wandering the dark halls, filled with shadows cast in moonlight. He just wanted to get outside, to breathe some fresh air, to escape the oppressive thickness of the atmosphere inside. After a few minutes of searching he found an exit, two french doors leading out to a wide balcony. He opened one softly, praying it wouldn't make noise in the echoing halls. He walked out, shutting the door carefully behind him and only realizing afterwards that it might lock. He crossed the balcony, arriving at the thick stone railing running along the edge, and took deep breaths of cold air. It was late February, cold enough to need a coat but warm enough that the snow on the ground had melted. He felt himself relax as he breathed, taking in the moonlit landscape. Nighttime was a funny thing, bathing everything in a wash of moonlight, turning a once colorful landscape into a study in grays and blacks. It leeched the color out and replaced it all with shadows. He had been standing there, unmoving, for a while when he heard a cough behind him, making him jump. He turned to see an ember glowing in a dark corner of the balcony.

A figure began to move forward, outlined in the darkness. When he got closer Liam recognized him as the boy from his English class, a cigarette in one hand and a half empty bottle of vodka in the other. "How long have you been there?" Liam asked as the boy approached. "Longer than you," he answered with a smirk. "You're the new boy, right?" he asked, and Liam nodded. "Ah," the boy said, taking a drag and exhaling, breathing a trail of curling smoke into the darkness. "I'm Zayn," he offered, "What's your name?" "I'm Liam," he replied curtly. "So Liam," Zayn continued, "What brought you to the prestigious Westerley academy mid-semester?" he asked casually. "None of your fucking business," Liam replied, sharper than necessary, but unsure of what Zayn was playing at. But Zayn just smirked, leaning with his back against the railing next to Liam. "Someone's got an attitude," Zayn said, taking a drink of vodka. "I must admit, it doesn't exactly match your image. You look to me like a boy next door, typical good guy. Someone who likes golfing with his dad, headed straight to oxford, probably plays football." Liam must have reacted to that because Zayn's face changed from amusement to smugness, "Ha! You are a footballer, aren't you?" he asked triumphantly. Liam gave him a withering look. "Not anymore," he answered, turning his gaze back to the view off the balcony. He could feel Zayn looking at him out of the corner of his eye. "Ah, damaged goods I see," he said knowingly, and Liam probably imagined the tint of sympathy in his voice. "Don't worry, everyone's fucked up here," he said quietly, and Liam knew exactly what he meant. Zayn offered him the bottle and Liam took it, swallowing a swig of vodka and feeling it burn all the way down. 

"So do you usually get drunk on balconies alone in the middle of the night?" Liam asked, wanting to direct the conversation away from himself. Zayn laughed at his side. "I'm not alone anymore, am I?" he responded, and Liam didn't miss the fact that he wasn't really answering the question. They stood together in silence for a few more minutes, passing the vodka back and forth and Zayn filling the air around them with wisps of smoke. Liam noticed tattoos peeking out of the rolled up cuff of his shirt, and wondered absently what they might be. "Well, Leeyum," Zayn finally said, dropping his cigarette on the ground, stepping on it and kicking it off the balcony in one fluid motion, "its been a pleasure, but I'm freezing my balls off and really must be getting inside." Liam noticed that Zayn was just in his white shirt, shivering in the moonlight. He nodded, not returning the farewell but acknowledging Zayn's departure. He went inside, leaving Liam alone on the balcony with the smell of winter and smoke and expensive cologne lingering in the air.

Liam followed suit a few minutes later, slipping back into the building and finding his dorm in the dark hallway. He shucked off his clothes, slipping into his bed in just his boxers, shivering at the cold of empty sheets. He didn't realize until the next morning that he had fallen asleep without his ipod for the first time in years. 

Harry was gone again when Liam woke the next morning, and he shook his head at his roommate's ridiculous study habits. He dressed stiffly, his joints popping loudly as he moved, and his head was vaguely achy, a slight fuzz clouding his thoughts. It was only as he was buttoning his starch white shirt that the events of last night returned to him. In his mind flashed images of Zayn in his white button down, bleached grey in the moonlight against his brown skin, tattoos snaking out of his sleeves as he smoked. He remembered the vodka, which explained Liam's headache. He hadn't had enough to be hung over, but enough that his mouth was dry and his head felt heavy. He shook off the memories of last night like a fog, brushing away images of smoke curling in the moonlight. 

The day passed slowly and uneventfully. The sky outside was grey, the light filtering through thick classroom windows dim and unwarming, matching Liam's mood. Liam didn't see Harry until after dinner, which Liam had eaten alone and Harry had apparently skipped entirely, holed up in the confines of the library. They sat quietly in the room, Harry taking a rare break from studying and listening to a record on an worn looking player. Liam liked the music, it was slow and crackling on the record player, filling the room with the singer's gruff voice and guitar chords. Liam finally broke the silence. "Do you know a boy named Zayn?" he asked, trying to sound casual and disinterested as he lay on his back, head resting on his hands. He saw Harry turn towards him but didn't meet his eye, training his eyes on the ornate canopy of his bed. "Zayn Malik? That's the only Zayn I know of," Harry said, curiosity coloring his tone. "Why do you ask?" he finished. Good question, Liam thought to himself. "No reason," he answered, but then decided that was probably more suspicious sounding than the truth. "He was smoking outside last night and I ran into him," Liam explained, not giving any more details. "You were outside last night? Why?" Harry asked, puzzled. Liam shrugged. "Couldn't sleep," he offered, a weak explanation, but it was the truth. "Zayn's dad owns hotels like, all over the world," Harry explained, even though Liam hadn't asked. "Other than that I don't really know much. He's best friends with Louis Tomlinson, who's family owns a clothing line or something," Harry shrugged. "Like I said, I don't socialize much. They haven't ever specifically been assholes to me, which is more than I can say for a lot of boys here I guess." Liam didn't answer, and Harry got up to turn off the record, before returning to his books and filling the room with silence once again. 

Liam crept out of his room again that night, telling himself that he couldn't sleep, that it was only the restlessness of his mind and the need for fresh air that brought him through the dark halls and out onto the balcony again. But it was vacant when he arrived, the furniture casting ghostly shadows across the empty patio, even the dark corners uninhabited. Liam leaned against the railing and sighed, scanning his eyes across the imposing facade of the building, the ivy and balustrades washed in moonlight. He stopped when his eyes landed on something in the darkness, an ember, faintly glowing from a dark patch of tile. Liam crossed the balcony and picked it up. A cigarette butt, still burning. He probably imagined the faint scent of cologne still hanging in the air. He put it out and tossed it off the balcony before walking back inside, the chill of the evening clinging to his bones as he returned to his room in the darkness. 

The next day was rainy, the heavy clouds of the day before finally breaking, showering the school and its grounds with torrents of cold water. Rain lashed against the windows in Liam's classrooms, the sound was almost soothing in its constancy, like white noise against his jumbled thoughts. When Zayn walked into their English class, Liam noticed that he had been outside. The shoulders of his blazer were speckled with rain, his usually perfect quiff dripping onto his forehead. Liam wondered vaguely where he had been. Smoking? Taking a walk? He shook his head, taking his eyes off of Zayn and reminding himself not to care. But their eyes met as he walked passed Liam's desk, just a brief exchange before Zayn chose his usually seat a few rows over. It was just a glance, but Liam felt like it was an acknowledgement. Of what, he didn't know. The teacher began to hand out essays, completed before Liam had arrived, so he took the opportunity to zone out. He was brought back to attention when he heard Zayn's name. "...and excellent marks to Mr. Malik," he heard the teacher continue, "a brilliant essay, your analyses of the book was very astute, I can tell you really delved with this novel." Zayn looked nonplussed, accepting his essay and shoving it into his bag without a word. Zayn looked up and their eyes met again, a longer glance this time, the meaning of which again evading Liam. The teacher finished with the essays and began lecture, and Liam tore his eyes from Zayn's and returned them to the window, watching the rain fall in rivulets down the glass. 

Liam almost didn't go to the balcony that night. He didn't want to care about the way dark eyes looked in the moonlight, or to wonder about eyes meeting across desks in class. It wasn't something Liam wanted in his life, a tight bubble of solitude he had crafted for himself over the past few years, careful to keep the world at arms length. But he was pulled from his bed as the moon rose by a tingle in his skin, growing from his fingertips, unfamiliar and unyielding no matter how long he drowned out his thoughts with pounding music. He got out of bed quietly, pulling on a pair of jeans over his boxers, slipping into clean white tennis shoes. 

He saw Zayn through the french doors before he opened them, silhouetted against the balcony. He walked out, knowing Zayn could probably hear him approach. "I was wondering if I'd see you here again," Zayn said as Liam leaned against the balcony behind him. "Couldn't sleep," Liam said, and it was the truth, if not the whole truth. Zayn nodded, and offered Liam his cigarette. Liam took a long drag, blowing the smoke out into the darkness before handing it back to Zayn. His eyes landed on Zayn's back pocket, where he could see a battered paperback sticking out, rolled in half. Zayn noticed and followed Liam's gaze, pulling the book out of his pocket and handing it to Liam. "The Beautiful and the Damned," was written across the cover in elegant script, a faded portrait of a young woman on the cover. "It's good, you should read it," Zayn said, gesturing to the book before returning to his cigarette. "In class, was this what your essay was on?" Liam asked, raising his eyes from the book to meet Zayn's golden ones. Zayn nodded. "I like books, they do two things," Zayn answered letting smoke out of his mouth. Liam waited for him to continue. "They let you escape the world, while simultaneously reminding you what a shitty place it really is." His words were light, but Liam heard the darkness beneath them. He pocketed the book with a quiet "thanks." Liam didn't read much, but he figured he could at least keep it for a while. 

Zayn turned to Liam. "There's an old chapel on the north end of the grounds," he said, his voice thick from smoke. He gestured to a corner of the woods, and Liam followed his gaze. "Tomorrow night, people will be there. Drinking, smoking, general depravity. You should come." He said, dropping his cigarette and grinding it into the tile with the toe of his shoe. "There's not much else to do around here on the weekends," he continued, and Liam nodded. "Maybe," he said, and Zayn smirked. "See you around, Liam." Zayn said with a whisper, disappearing inside. Liam wondered how yet again he was the one left standing on the balcony, Zayn running off before Liam had a chance to be the one to leave. His eyes drifted back to the direction Zayn had pointed, contemplating his offer. He stood for a few more minutes before walking back inside, Zayn's book stuffed awkwardly into his pocket. 

The next day Liam and Harry sat in their room after dinner, the room silent as usual. Liam cleared his throat awkwardly. He decided to invite Harry to the chapel tonight, half because he felt bad for him and half because he didn't really want to go alone, even if that meant dragging his probably extremely unpopular roommate with him. It's not that Liam minded going places alone, most of the time he even preferred it, but he didn't know how he felt about the only person he knew there being Zayn. It was better to have backup, or whatever Harry was. "So, uh, apparently there's some sort of party or something at a chapel...?" Liam trailed off, and Harry looked at him with disbelief. "At the old chapel in the woods?" Harry asked skeptically, and Liam nodded. "Zayn invited me, do you want to...go?" he asked uncertainly, already regretting starting the conversation. "Um. That's not exactly my crowd," Harry said, looking at Liam like he was crazy. "I know, but I won't know anyone else, and you are in serious need of removing a stick from your ass," Liam told Harry. He saw Harry about to defend himself, then reconsider. "I definitely won't fit in," Harry said, grasping for an excuse. 

Liam looked at Harry contemplatively before walking to his own closet. He hunted through the rack for a minute before pulling out a deep green sweater. "Put this on," he said, tossing it to Harry, and Harry pulled it on over his t shirt obediently. Harry was as tall as Liam, but thinner, and the sweater hung off his thin frame where it fit Liam snugly. But the effect was almost cool, the dark green matching Harry's wide eyes perfectly. He walked to Harry and tugged at his clothes a little, till the sweater hung right and his tattered jeans looked like maybe they were ironic on purpose or something. He dragged Harry into the bathroom, "Come on," he said, until Harry followed. Liam began messing with Harry's wild curls, shaking them until they looked fashionably disheveled, spraying product into it and running his fingers through. "One more thing," Liam said, covering Harry with a generous amount of cologne. Liam stood back, appraising his work. "Not bad, you don't look quite as...poor as before." And harry gave him a crooked smile. "Not embarrassed to be seen with me?" he asked, and Liam gave a small laugh. "I guess not, I'm planning on getting wasted anyway," he said. He had to admit Harry looked pretty good, he was more attractive than he led on, burying himself in ratty sweatshirts and stacks of books. He wasn't Liam's type, but he had definitely underestimated Harry. 

Harry led the way through the woods to the chapel, down a small worn path. "The chapel is from when the school was first built," Harry explained as they walked. "They don't really use it anymore, sometimes they have alumni things here, but other than that its mostly just empty. Or used for parties, apparently," he said as they approached. They could hear music and voices coming from inside, and they looked at each other before Liam led the way towards the door. The room was dark and filled with smoke as they entered, some indie band blasting on the stereo. People were seated on the back of pews or leaning against the altar, drinking expensive liquor straight from the bottle and passing joints around in small groups, some chatting, others just sitting and enjoying the numbness intoxication brings. Liam's recognizes the apathetic gaze of the latter, an expression he'd worn almost weekly for years. They walk further into the chapel, largely ignored by everyone there, until Liam's eyes land on Zayn. He was leaning against a dark wooden wall, light from a stained glass window painting colors on his face. Their eyes met and Zayn motioned Liam over, inviting him to join his circle. Liam crossed the smoky room and Harry followed, stiff at Liam's side. Zayn greeted Liam with a smirk, eyeing Harry curiously. At Zayn's side was a brown haired boy with bright blue eyes, already glazed with drunkenness. Zayn handed Liam a bottle and Liam accepted it gratefully, taking a long drink before handing it to Harry, who looked doubtful for a moment before relenting and taking a small swig of alcohol. They kept passing the bottle around, and soon Zayn brought out a bowl as well, lighting it and inhaling deeply. The boy next to Zayn was eyeing Harry hungrily, his blue gaze deepening with every round of drinks.

The rest of the night passed in a blur of cologne and expensive suits in the darkness. Liam kept being handed bottles and pipes and took them gladly, feeling his sense numb in the dark and smoky chapel. Some boys were doing lines of coke off a pew in the corner, but Liam steered clear. He didn't mess with that shit, and he wasn't going to start now. Booze and weed was enough for him, especially tonight, in an unfamiliar place. He'd lost track of Harry but Zayn was still there, along with a rotation of unfamiliar faces, blurring together as he felt himself getting more and more lost. There were girls there too, probably from a nearby girls academy, but they were all lipstick and too loud laughs and strong perfume, and Liam shied away from more than one set of cloying nail-polished hands, grasping at his lapel and pressing kisses to his neck. He drunkenly rebuffed their advances, instead drawing further and further into himself like he usually did when he got wasted like this. Someone handed him a bong and he took a long hit, swallowing the smoke and relishing the familiar taste. He felt Zayn beside him, sitting close on the wooden pew, a voice, a smell, a blur of dark hair and deep eyes. He closed his eyes and let the world spin, letting the shapes behind his eyes and the burning in his veins block out anything else he might be feeling. He had missed this, this sense of oblivion, and he gave himself over to it entirely. 

He didn't know how long he spent at the chapel, lost in a sea of smoke and alcohol and music and warm bodies bumping against each other drunkenly. He woke up the next morning with his head aching, a product of drinking heavily for the first time in a few weeks. He blinked his eyes open, and it took him a moment to realize he wasn't in his room. There was the same heavy dark furniture, but it was filled with unfamiliar possessions. There were tattered books piled on the nightstand and the desk, and posters covered almost every inch of wall. He sat up confusedly and his eyes landed on a familiar form, leaning against the bathroom doorframe. "You're awake," Zayn said, and Liam frowned in confusion. What the hell had happened last night? "Don't worry, we didn't have sex," Zayn said with a laugh, as if reading Liam's mind. "How..." Liam trailed off, not coherent enough to form complete sentences yet. "You were drunk of your ass, and I have no idea where your dorm is," Zayn explained, walking into the room, "so I brought you here." He was wearing only his boxers, lavender and made of expensive material, and Liam couldn't help but notice they way his body moved in them. Liam was shirtless, and he wondered vaguely if that had been his doing or Zayn's. Zayn laughed at Liam again before walking into the bathroom and brushing his teeth. Liam noticed the other bed in the room, empty and stripped of sheets. His eyes wandered to the other desk and bureau, devoid of belongings or any signs of life. "You don't have a roommate?" Liam asked. "I did, until a few months ago," Zayn answered, toothbrush still in his mouth. "What happened?" Liam asked, turning his eyes to the sink where Zayn stood. "He killed himself," Zayn said matter of factly, spitting his toothpaste into the sink. Liam let out a low breath. "I guess you were right, everyone really is fucked up here." Liam said quietly. Zayn paused, meeting Liam's eyes before turning back to face the mirror. "Everyone's fucked up everywhere," he said, and Liam wasn't sure if he was meant to hear it or not. 

Liam got dressed, pulling on his wrinkled clothes from where they lay discarded on Zayn's floor, and rinsed his mouth out with water in the sink, splashing some on his face as well. He looked like hell, but he'd definitely been through worse. He turned to Zayn as he was about to leave. "Do you know where my roommate Harry got to?" he asked, realizing he had barely seen him all night. Zayn laughed in response. "I have a feeling he's just fine," he answered, and Liam was puzzled by the cryptic nature of his reply. "Well, thanks I guess, for not leaving me passed out in the middle of the woods, or whatever," Liam said casually, not wanting to make a big deal about the night. "Just try to hold your liquor next time, yeah?" Zayn said with a smirk, picking up a book off his desk and flopping down onto his now empty bed. Liam left him there, sprawled across the bed with his nose buried in a thick book, still wearing only the thin purple boxers.

Liam walked back to his room hastily, not wanting to get caught on a walk of shame, knowing he looked pretty wrecked in his wrinkled clothes. He checked his watch has he approached the door, it was just after noon. He opened the door to find Harry, sprawled out face down on his bed, awake but unmoving. He sat up when Liam entered, shutting the door behind him. "Where the hell were you?" Harry asked, running a hand through his tangle of curls. "I was apparently dead drunk and Zayn didn't know where our room was, so I crashed at his dorm," he answered quickly, hoping Harry wouldn't make a big deal out of it. "Where did you go?" he asked, trying to turn the conversation to Harry. "I don't think I saw you after like, the first hour," Liam continued, stripping off last night's clothes. Harry looked embarrassed. "I, um..." he looked around the room awkwardly. "Um, you know Louis Tomlinson?" He finally asked, not meeting Liam's eyes. "Zayn's friend? The short kid with the blue eyes?" Liam asked, giving Harry a questioning look. Harry nodded. "We sort of...hooked up I guess?" Harry said nervously. Liam's jaw dropped. "You what?" he asked, his tone colored by disbelief. He sat down on his bed, facing Harry who was staring awkwardly at the comforter, fiddling with a loose thread. 

"He dragged me into a corner of the church and we were sort of making out, I guess," he explained, "and then we were drinking and then we came back here and you were gone and...yeah." Harry finished awkwardly. Liam couldn't help but laugh. "I guess my makeover really worked then, huh?" he teased, and Harry's cheeks colored at his words. "I don't think it was anything, he was pretty drunk..." Harry trailed off, still blushing. "What about you?" Liam asked, "Were you drunk?" Harry's blush deepened and he looked a bit guilty. "A little...not quite as much," he said, clearly embarrassed. Liam wondered if Harry had feelings for Louis, but he didn't think it was quite the right time to ask. Instead he shook his head amusedly at his roommate, and went to the bathroom to shower. His thoughts drifted to the night before as he stepped under the stream of scalding water. It wasn't like he hadn't crashed in unfamiliar places before, hell, most weekends he had no idea where the fuck he was when he woke up. But something was different about sleeping in Zayn's room, waking up to dusty books and silk boxers clinging suggestively to brown skin. He shook his head to clear the images from his mind. Zayn was just someone to drink with, a cigarette glowing in the darkness, a taste of whiskey in a crowded chapel. Nothing else, not to Liam. The smell of weed and booze and sweat washed off his skin as he stood in the steam, swirling down the drain along with the faint scent of cigarette smoke. 

They settled into a quiet routine. Neither of them talked about it, but Liam felt like they had a silent agreement, one that had slipped in between the brief words they exchanged. Liam would climb out of bed a few nights a week, shrug into clothes and sneak out onto the cold patio. Zayn was always there, with a cigarette or a worn paperback or a bottle of wine. They would sit in the dark together, sometimes talking, sometimes silent. Liam didn't share details about himself, and he didn't ask about Zayn. Zayn didn't seem to mind, instead prattling on, sometimes drunkenly, about Hemingway and Murakami and even if Liam was clueless as to what he was talking about, he liked the sound of Zayn's voice, low and smooth in the moonlight. They talked about music, bonding over a shared love of the Arctic Monkeys, debating the merits of Nirvana's live album. And they got drunk together most weekends. In the chapel, or in someone's dorm if they were feeling brave. He almost always brought Harry with him too, smirking when after a few drinks he was inevitably pulled into a dark corner by the insatiable and intoxicated hands of Louis Tomlinson. If Harry was hurt by the fact that Louis only wanted to shag him when he was off his ass, completely ignoring him every other day of the week, he didn't let on. They were hot, crowded night, filled with empty bottles and glassy eyes and Liam lost himself each weekend in the welcomed numbness. But Liam didn't sleep at Zayn's again. Even nights when he drank so much he couldn't walk straight, in the morning he found himself tucked into his own bed, with a slight suspicion that it was Zayn's hands that had put him there. 

It wasn't a friendship, not quite. They didn't speak in classes, didn't eat lunch or dinner together in the dining hall. He sat with Harry through his meals, sat alone and silent in classes, with only a few brief glances to indicate that Zayn and Liam even knew each other existed. So it wasn't a friendship, not really, but it was the closest thing Liam had let himself have in a long time. He didn't know what it was, but he willingly went to the balcony each night, drawn by something he couldn't name and wasn't sure he wanted to. Zayn Malik had slowly become a strange fixture in his life, constant as the north star but as mysterious as a black hole. 

The semester passed by in a blur of suffocating classrooms and smoky weekends, and soon Liam found himself leaving for spring break. He was going home, if you could call it that, to spend the week at his mother's house in the countryside. He wouldn't see his father, he didn't really mind. Liam reluctantly loaded his bag into the long black car, shoving his earbuds into his ears as he climbed into the backseat. He watched the school retreating behind him, disappearing behind wrought iron gates. He was numb, in the space between. Not at school and not at home, and in a way it was more freeing than being in either of those places ever was. His thoughts drifted to Zayn. He didn't know if he was going home, he hadn't asked. The night before Liam left was spent as all the others were, sitting on the cold patio sharing a joint, talking about nothing until one of them went inside. 

His mother's house was large and unwelcoming, far too large and far too empty. Liam has found that the richer you are, the harder it is to fill the empty spaces. No matter how many expensive knickknacks you can afford, there's a chill in the walls of your house that you can never warm, a hole you can never fill. His mother's reception was cold, a few curt words inquiring about his grades and telling him that she was throwing a party he would have to attend on Friday, and she was gone. Liam didn't mind, he preferred the solitude. The week passed by at a snail's pace, Liam ate in the empty kitchen, watched movies in an empty home theater, played video games by himself on the large screen. He realized reluctantly that he missed the companionship school brought. Harry and his endless piles of textbooks, Zayn and his smoky whispers every night. As he let his mind drift to Zayn, he had a thought. He walked upstairs to his room and began rooting through his duffel. He hadn't bothered unpacking, hadn't put down even the most shallow roots in his austere bedroom. At the bottom of the bag he found it, a worn book with dogeared pages. The Beautiful and the Damned. Zayn had given it to him, one of the first nights. Liam looked down at it, considering. He didn't have anything better to do, and maybe reading it would give him some insight into the enigma of Zayn Malik that had wormed himself so effortlessly into Liam's life. He curled up in an armchair next to a wide window, the light filtering in a steely grey, and read. 

The party Liam's mother threw was insufferable, the stuffy atmosphere almost as suffocating as the tight collar Liam was wearing, leaning petulantly up against a pillar on the patio. At least there was alcohol, he thought, knocking back a flute of champagne. He didn't know what the party was for, though his mother had told him. Some new charity his mother was supporting, holding up the clever facade of philanthropy she had been crafting as long as Liam could remember. There were women in ball gowns and men in tuxes, an air of privilege settling like a haze as people discussed how terrible the misfortunes of the poor were. Liam could smell the hypocrisy, but it was nothing new. He shook hands and smiled when he was supposed to, but he felt cold inside. He longed for the feel of a different patio beneath his feet, for a voice beside him that made him feel like he was actually alive for once. Because he knew right now he wasn't. He grabbed another flute of champagne off a tray and re-entered the crowd, a smile plastered on his face. 

On Sunday Liam found himself again in the backseat of the black car, and the journey reminded him of the first time he traveled to the school. It felt like an eternity ago even though it was only a few short months. Harry was in the room when Liam arrived, having spent the break at school, unable to afford the journey home. Liam greeted him and began unpacking, when he noticed several dark marks across the skin of Harry's neck. "Did Louis get back already, then?" Liam asked, giving Harry a knowing smile. "What makes you say that?" Harry asked defensively, and Liam gestured to his neck. "Oh...I...yeah" Harry mumbled awkwardly, not meeting Liam's eye. Liam laughed at his flustered roommate, who was currently blushing scarlet into his textbook. That night, the patio was empty, and Liam tried to ignore the disappointment he felt as he wandered back inside and crawled between his sheets.

The next day he sat in class, ignoring the students filing in until his eyes fell on Zayn. He did a double take as Zayn entered, Liam's eye widening involuntarily. Zayn's eye was swollen and bruised, and his lip was busted. His cheek was bruised as well, and Liam wondered what the hell had happened. But Zayn didn't look over at Liam at all, staring straight ahead at the board or straight down to the notebook on his desk. Zayn was absent from the balcony the next two nights as well, and Liam had almost given up hope when, on the third night, he saw Zayn's small form sitting against the railing, a cigarette in hand. Liam walked out onto the balcony and sat beside Zayn, who wordlessly handed him the smoke, not meeting Liam's eyes. Liam took it and inhaled, blowing a smoke ring into the moonlight before handing it back. They sat in silence. Liam wanted to ask but didn't want to break the fragile framework they had built. They didn't talk about themselves. Liam prided himself on not caring, but being with Zayn made that increasingly harder. 

"Lose a bar fight or something?" he finally asked, unsure of how to broach the subject. "Fuck off," Zayn said sharply, standing and turning his back to Liam, facing out onto the dark grounds. Liam wasn’t offended, it was probably how he would have responded too. He stood up and joined Zayn leaning against the balcony. “I hate this fucking place, you know?” Zayn said, still holding the cigarette even though it had burned down to a stub. “I meant it when I said that everyone’s fucked up here.” His words felt familiar to Liam, he heard a bitterness in Zayn’s tone that Liam was no stranger to. But Zayn sounded different tonight. He was breaking, Liam could see lines in his usually smooth facade of coolness. “It’s like I’m trapped in a fucking Fitzgerald novel,” Zayn continued, running his hands through his hair manically, lighting another cigarette and holding it to his lips with a shaking hand. “It’s so fake I can’t stand it. A boy I knew for what, five months, puts a bullet through his head and his parents don’t even show up to collect the body. I barely knew him and I was the only one who cried. In the whole fucking school no one else even batted an eye. Everyone just gets drunk so they can ignore all the shit that no one wants to talk about,” his voice was angry but broken. “But even when I’m drunk I can’t forget it,” Zayn added, his last sentence softer than the rest. 

“Like the book,” Liam said quietly as Zayn took a long drag. “What?” Zayn asked curiously, turning to Liam as if he had forgotten he was there. “The Beautiful and the Damned,” Liam continued, “I read it, over break. I liked it. You’re right. It’s all fucked up.” He wanted to convey to Zayn that he understood, that he knew the anger and the bitterness, coated in champagne and sugar that didn’t quite take the edge off. “Yeah, it is,” Zayn agreed, and he looked at Liam like maybe he understood. Zayn slumped back down, sitting against the edge of the balcony, and Liam joined him, noticing the way their hips touched as they sat. 

Zayn’s voice was low the next time he spoke. “It was my dad,” he said, and Liam was puzzled until he figured out what Zayn meant. He didn’t know what to say. “Why?” he asked softly. Zayn’s face was shrouded in darkness, hiding his expression, but he laughed darkly. “Who fucking knows. Maybe I was talking too loud or maybe I wasn’t talking enough or made him look bad in front of his friends, or maybe just because of the general disappointment that I am,” he said tightly. “It wasn’t the first time, and it won’t be the last,” Zayn continued, his voice weak under the facade of apathy. “Since I was little, nothing I do is good enough. And I thought it was normal till I went to school, figured out that not all little boys get beat by their dads when they don’t clean their room. When I left for boarding school I thought things would change, but they didn’t. Every time I go home, its the same.” Zayn finished, his eyes closed as he smoked. Liam put a hand on tentatively on Zayn’s leg, and Zayn didn’t push him away. It wasn’t much, but it was all Liam had to offer, knowing Zayn didn’t want his pity. Liam didn’t know what made him speak, but he did. “My parents don’t talk to each other. Or me. It’s all just silence and anger and tension. When I played football, I thought it would make them proud, maybe they’d stop fighting and come to a fucking game or something. I don’t know what I thought. I don’t think they’ve hugged me since I could walk,” he said. Zayn’s face was straight head but he knew he was listening. “But I guess that’s better than the alternative,” Liam shrugged. He hadn’t ever really told anyone about his parents, even with his “friends” before, he never broached the subject. A quiet moment passed, Liam’s hand still resting on Zayn’s thigh.

“Let’s just run away, yeah?” Zayn said, turning to Liam with a smirk. “Run away?” Liam asked, confused. He remembered when he was little and packed a suitcase full of toys, getting as far as the main gate before his nanny found him and dragged him back to the house. “Yeah,” Zayn said, “Paris, Morocco, Iceland, wherever. Staying in shitty hostels and drinking cheap booze. Fuck your parents and fuck mine, and fuck this school and fucking Fitzgerald. It doesn’t matter where, anywhere but here,” he finished, his bright tone tapering off as he finished. Liam gave a small laugh. “Okay, yeah, lets run away,” and his voice didn’t sound as teasing as he had meant it to. It didn’t sound so bad, when he really thought about it.

And then Zayn was looking at him through heavy eyelids, holding Liam’s gaze and not letting go. “You want to run away with me Liam?” Zayn asked, his voice low, and Liam nodded, not taking his eyes off of Zayns. A silent moment passed, and then they were kissing. Zayn’s lips were chapped and cold against Liam’s, but soft at the same time. He felt Zayn’s tongue press against his lips, and Liam opened them obediently, letting Zayn into his mouth. He tasted like smoke and mint and Liam didn’t want to pull away. Zayn’s hands slid up his back, and he tangled his own in Zayn’s thick hair, eliciting a quiet moan. They sat like that for a while, lips moving against each other until they were both breathless. Zayn was the first to pull away, his lips raw and red in the moonlight. “It’s nice to pretend, isn’t it?” he said sadly, leaning into Liam. Liam didn’t know if he meant the running away or the kiss or both, but he kind of hoped it was just the first part. They huddled together in the cold, Liam’s arms still around Zayn. He was sleepy, his eyelids drooping as Zayn smoked another cigarette, head still resting on Liam’s shoulder. 

Liam awoke just as the sun was rising, orange overtaking the dusky blue of the night sky. Zayn was gone, but his jacket was covering Liam, and Liam smirked at the gesture. It smelled like smoke and cologne and Zayn, and Liam held it to his nose, memories of last night thick in his head. He sat there for a moment, before standing and stretching his joints, walking back inside and taking the blazer with him. 

Liam's head was swimming with Zayn the whole next day. His mind was filled with the way Zayn's lips felt against his, and the way he had looked in the darkness, bruised and broken. Liam knew there were wounds that went far deeper than the physical ones his father had inflicted, he knew because he recognized someone just as broken as he was. He hated himself for being nervous to see Zayn again, for wondering if this would change anything, for being hopeful that they might kiss again. He sat through his classes, distracted by curls of smoke and golden eyes and whispers in the darkness. When Zayn walked into English their eyes met, lingering for longer than usual as Zayn chose his usual seat across the room. Something flickered in Zayn's eyes that Liam couldn't name, but it made his skin tingle and his heart flutter. 

Part of Liam is afraid that Zayn won't be on the balcony tonight, that he wouldn't want to see Liam again after last night. His hands shook as he walked through the dark halls, second nature to him now after months of sneaking out. When he approached the doors he could see Zayn, silhouetted against the sky, and his heart raced a little. He was there. Liam walked out onto the patio, noticing that it was almost warm for the first time that year. "Hi," Liam said uncertainly, joining zayn at the railing. "Hey," Zayn replied with a smirk. He was without a cigarette tonight, but Liam could see a bottle of wine in his hand. He was in just his button down, sleeves rolled up the elbow, revealing more of the dark ink on Zayn's skin. Liam resisted the urge to trace it with his fingers. They shared a long moment of silence, and Zayn took a drink before handing it to Liam. "I have your jacket, in my room," Liam said, knowing it probably sounded really lame, but unsure of where to go from there. Zayn laughed. "Alright," he said, "Sorry I left you out here, you looked too peaceful to wake up," he continued, looking at Liam playfully. "You could have stayed," Liam said, hoping it conveyed the message he was trying to send, that he was okay with what had happened. Zayn looked like he knew what Liam meant, and his hand brushed against Liam's on the railing. 

"This weekend, Louis wants to take his dad's yacht out," Zayn said, turning to face Liam, "You should come with us." One of his hands dropped to fiddle with Liam's belt loop as he spoke, and Liam tried not to react despite the butterflies it brought. "Isn't leaving campus like, not allowed?" Liam asked. He wasn't exactly a stickler for rules, but he didn't fancy getting caught either. Zayn shrugged. "They don't really check, I mean it's not like they go around knocking on everyone's door, making sure they're in bed. As long as you can get in and out, you're fine," he finished and Liam nodded. It sounded nice, getting away for a weekend, especially with Zayn. "Okay," Liam agreed, and Zayn smiled up at him. Liam noted that it was maybe the first time he had ever seen Zayn really smile. "You should bring Harry too, Louis told me to tell you," Zayn said and Liam laughed. "What exactly is going on there? Besides shagging of course," he said, amused. "Not sure," Zayn answered, "Louis' my best mate, but I don't understand him most of the time. We're...different." Liam waited to see if Zayn was going to continue, his heart fluttering as Zayn linked his hand with Liam's. "He's happy, with this life. I mean yeah, school sucks and Louis hates it here. But underneath that he's is content, he's happy. With the parties and the cars and the yachts." Zayn sounded sad, like he wished he could see the world through whatever lens Louis did. Liam stroked the back of Zayn's hand with his thumb. He wanted to tell Zayn that he knew, that he was broken too, but he didn't have the words. So he kissed him instead, tentatively in the darkness. Zayn returned the kiss, raising goosebumps on Liam's skin despite the pleasant weather of the night. When they finally pulled apart, Zayn looked at him like he understood, and it made Liam feel like maybe for once he wasn't so alone. 

Convincing Harry to come with them was easier than Liam expected. "I could get in trouble..." Harry said uncertainly, "He really said Louis told you to invite me?" Harry was sitting curled up in his desk chair, lanky limbs folded beneath him as he thought. "Yes, really. You fancy him, don't you?" Liam said, laughing at his roommate. "No," Harry snapped, but his green puppy-dog eyes said otherwise. Liam had been suspecting since the beginning that Harry had fallen for Louis. He always denied it when Liam asked, but Liam didn't miss the dreamy looks and sighs, and the willingness with which he followed Louis to the bedroom every weekend. "Fine, I'll go," Harry finally announced, as if Liam had been waiting with baited breath. "Alright, I'll tell Zayn," Liam shrugged, returning his attention to his coursework. 

Once the sun went down on Friday, they met up with Zayn and Louis by the bell tower. Harry had borrowed one of Liam's shirts again, long sleeved with navy and maroon stripes. Liam could tell he was nervous, unless Louis was already drunk when they arrived (which honestly wouldn't surprise Liam,) this would be the first time they had really hung out sober. And Liam couldn't deny that he was a little nervous too, albeit for different reasons. The prospect of spending the weekend with Zayn had his hands shaking. Sure, they had kissed twice, the memories of which had been keeping Liam up at night. But Liam had no idea what it meant, what they were. He had given up trying to ignore the fact that Zayn was behind his eyelids every time they closed, or that he avoided washing his clothes whenever they smelled like smoke. He knew he was gone for golden eyes in the moonlight and it terrified him, after keeping people out so aggressively for so long.

He and Harry had been waiting a few minutes when Zayn and Louis arrived. "Hi," Zayn said quietly, whispering in the quiet hall. "Hi," Liam returned, and he felt Zayn's fingers brush against his in the darkness. "Harry," Louis greeted tersely, in an extremely loud whisper. "Louis," Harry mumbled back, a blush spreading across his cheeks. "So what exactly is the plan here?" Liam asked as they walked towards the gates. "Louis' friend is picking us up down on the main road. We just need to hop the gate," he explained as they walked. The grass was cold and wet as they crossed the wide lawn, seeping through Liam's tennis shoes. When they reached the gate, Louis jumped, effortlessly reaching one of the high bars and scrambling over. Liam followed suit, not wanting to look like a coward, even though it was sort of higher than he expected when he reached the top. But he continued undeterred, dangling over the other side and letting himself drop. Harry looked uncomfortable but proceeded anyway, all sharp joints and gangly limbs as he climbed. Zayn came last, and Liam thought he made climbing a gate look more graceful than anyone had a right to.

They continued down the dirt road for about ten minutes when a car approached. Liam panicked at first, before he noticed that it was a Jag. It had to be Louis' friend. The luxury car pulled up and a blond boy climbed out, grinning. "Niall!!" Louis greeted loudly, jumping on the boy and pulling him into a bear hug. Zayn greeted Niall warmly as well, and introduced Liam and Harry. "Great to meet you, boys! I've heard a lot about you!" Niall said loudly. Zayn laughed and nudged Liam, but Louis looked like he was perhaps going to strangle Niall. Harry was quietly blushing, as usual. Niall was cheerful, and Liam could see why he and Louis would be friends, both full of unstoppable energy. They piled into the tiny Jag, Louis up front with Niall while Liam, Zayn, and Harry sat close in the back. He could tell Niall came from money, despite the tank top and snapback he was sporting. Not many people have access to a Jaguar they can take for joyrides in the middle of the night. Plus he doubted Louis Tomlinson had any friends who didn't own multiple houses and summer in France. 

They sped down the road until they reached the highway, and from there continued towards the shore. Liam watched the dark trees blur past his window, content to feel Zayn's thigh pressed close against his in the dim light of the car. They drove for about an hour before Niall slowed, pulling into the end of the docks where the more luxurious yachts were kept. They climbed out of the cramped car, untangling limbs after so long sitting still. Liam noticed that Niall wasn't getting out of the car. "His dad's throwing a banquet tomorrow, so Niall had to pass this time," Zayn explained, as Niall waved and peeled out of the lot dangerously. They followed Louis to one of the boats, by far the biggest currently at the dock. Liam was nonplussed, but Harry's eyes were as wide as saucers, taking in the expensive decor and plush couches. Liam sometimes forgot that Harry wasn't used to this, that yachts and jaguars and thousand dollar suits were all overwhelming and unfamiliar to him. "Shall we?" Louis asked, disappearing into the bridge, and Liam felt the boat start to move a few minutes later. "Where are we going exactly?" Liam asked, joining Zayn on one of the leather couches. Zayn shrugged. "With Louis at the helm? Who knows," he said with a laugh. "Probably just along the coast for a bit, I doubt he's going to want to do any serious navigating," he added, and Liam settled into Zayn's side. 

An hour or so later, they were seated on the floor, passing around a bottle of expensive champagne and laughing as they tried to drunkenly organize a poker game. "Alright, but if we're going to play poker I insist on strip poker," Louis declared loudly, eyes focused pointedly in Harry's direction. Zayn was busy preparing a bowl, which he lit and offered to Liam for the first hit. The cabin was soon filled with smoke, making the space feel cozier, closer. He was drunk, but it wasn't like other weekends. He wasn't drinking to forget, wasn't falling into the welcome dark or withdrawing inside himself. He was laughing, watching Harry and Louis drunkenly flirting across the room. He was blowing smoke in Zayn's face and giggling. Zayn was blowing smoke rings, smiling at Liam between hits. It was different, and Liam kind of liked it. They stayed that way for about an hour, messing around, drunkenly dancing to terrible top 40, and sharing another bottle of champagne. Then Louis leaned over and whispered in Harry's ear, tracing a hand across the hemline of his sweater and watching Harry's face grow red. Not long after that, the two disappeared into the bedroom, Liam and Zayn teasing them as they went. 

"There's another room," Zayn said softly, looking at Liam. "I mean, I'm sure you want to sleep, I didn't mean...." Zayn continued, but Liam cut him off with a kiss. Zayn led the way to the other room, smaller than the master but still outlandishly decorated, a king size bed made up with expensive sheets taking up most of the floor space. They stumbled into the room and flopped on the bed, giggling. They didn't bother to turn on the light, and the moonlight filtering through the small window was cool and silver. "I didn't know you could be a happy drunk, I've never seen you like this," Zayn teased, leaning up on his elbows to look at Liam. "I don't usually have much to be happy about," Liam answered, "I guess that's different tonight." he finished, the implication of his statement left hanging between them in the air. He studied Zayn's face in the darkness. The bruises, just beginning to fade, and the deep circles under his eyes that Liam knew he should have noticed sooner. "Liam," Zayn said, his voice low and his eyes bright. "Yeah?" Liam asked, lowering his tone to match Zayn's. "I like you," said Zayn, leaning down and pressing a chaste kiss against Liam's lips. "I like you too," Liam said, smiling into the kiss. Zayn was a sweet drunk, apparently, which would explain him tucking Liam into bed every weekend. Liam almost regretted passing out all those nights, thinking that otherwise this might have happened sooner.

The kiss deepened, and Zayn tugged at the hem of Liam's shirt insistently, until Liam sat up enough to pull it off. Zayn ran his hands over the expanse of Liam's chest with cool hands, making Liam shiver at his touch. Zayn pulled his shirt off as well, revealing more dark tattoos. Liam wanted to trace them with his tongue, wanted to listen as Zayn explained each and every one of them. He settled for only the former for now, pinning Zayn to the bed and pressing his mouth against his tan skin. "Fuck," Zayn moaned softly as Liam let his hands travel to Zayn's belt. He looked to Zayn for permission, and after a frantic nod from Zayn he unfastened his pants. Zayn sat up to kick them onto the floor, and Liam pulled off his own before leaning back down to Zayn. They kissed heatedly, and Zayn sucked dark marks into Liam's neck. Their hips rolled together and Liam moaned, feeling Zayn's hard erection against his own. He felt Zayn's hands slide down his back and into his boxers. He tugged at the waistband. "Can I...?" Zayn said questioningly. "Yeah," Liam said, pulling his boxers off the rest of the way and watching as Zayn did as well. And then their bodies were pressed together again, and Liam couldn't keep his hands off of Zayn's body, feeling every inch of his smooth skin. 

"Do you want to...?" Liam asked softly, pulling away and meeting Zayn's eyes. They were wide and soft in the dark. "Yes," Zayn nodded, "Yes, definitely." Liam sat as Zayn stumbled over to the dresser, fishing something out of the top drawer. He returned with a condom and a small bottle. "Been here before, I take it?" Liam asked teasingly. Zayn climbed back into bed and kissed Liam passionately. "Don't worry babe, they had nothing on you," he said with a smirk, wrapping his hand suggestively around Liam, moving just enough to tease. Liam groaned and grabbed the lube from Zayn, slicking up his fingers before pressing one into Zayn slowly. Zayn moaned as Liam moved, and after a moment he whispered hoarsely, "Another one." Liam obliged, curling his fingers until he reached the bundle of nerves, making Zayn writhe off the bed, breathless. A few moments later Zayn panted that he was ready, and Liam slid on the condom and applied more lube. He leaned down and kissed Zayn, first on the lips, and then trailing down his neck as he slowly slid himself into Zayn. He felt Zayn clench around him, and gave him a moment to adjust before moving. Zayn's hips bucked, and Liam took it as a sign, thrusting into Zayn as they kissed. 

They fell into an easy rhythm, and Zayn wrapped his legs tightly around Liam's body. He felt Zayn's fingernails dull against his back, digging in and making Liam moan. "Liam," Zayn whimpered, and Liam slid a hand down to touch Zayn, wrapping his hand around him and rubbing along with the rhythm of his thrusts. Zayn came first, coating Liam's hand and his own chest with thick stripes. He moaned and closed his eyes, his pink lips forming Liam's name as he came, and it was enough to send Liam over the edge. He thrusted one, two, three, more times before coming, and falling onto Zayn's chest, exhausted. Zayn shoved him off after a minute, disappearing into the dark before reappearing moments later with a wet towel. He cleaned off Liam gently, and then wiped himself down before tossing the towel into the corner and climbing back in bed. He curled against Liam's side, yawning and resting his head on his chest. He shivered, and Liam pulled the covers up over both of them with his free hand. "Sleepy?" he asked, and Zayn nodded, turning his head to press a kiss against Liam's chest. They curled up together in the darkness, Liam playing with Zayn's hair and Zayn tracing intricate patterns into Liam's skin with his fingertip. They fell asleep like that, lost in their own little world, safe from everything that had conspired to make them so broken so young. Liam thought, as he drifted off, that no matter how many people he'd shared a bed with, it was maybe the first time he hadn't fallen asleep feeling alone. 

Liam woke up as the sun was rising, filling the room with yellow and orange light. He realized the bed was empty and frowned at the absence of Zayn, recalling last night's closeness, the feeling of his body warm against Liam's. He hunted around the room for his boxers, pulling them on and slipping out of the room to look for Zayn. The cabin was a mess, and he was careful not to step on any bottles with his bare feet as he passed through. He heard no noise coming from Harry and Louis' bedroom, figuring they were still asleep at this early hour. Zayn wasn't anywhere downstairs, and Liam climbed the stairs to the upper deck, wincing at the cold beneath his feet. He found Zayn, leaning against the railing of the boat and smoking. He was wearing his boxers and a loose sweater, his hair discheveled from sleep and sex. He looked like the greatest thing Liam had ever seen, sillhouetted against the sunrise and breathing smoke into the cold morning air. Liam crossed the deck and joined him, leaning his elbows on the railing with a shiver. Zayn didn't turn at Liam's approach. He had been right about staying near the coast, Liam could see land about a mile in, the skyline dark against the morning sky. 

"What are you thinking about?" Liam asked, breaking the silence of the morning. Zayn shrugged. "I guess this was sort of like running away, yeah?" he asked, still not looking at Liam. "I mean it's not Italy, or Australia, or Mexico, but I guess forgetting about how shit the world really is for one night is better than nothing. Not that it changes anything anyway." His voice sounded bitter, but Liam could hear the sadness underneath. The facade that Liam hadn't seen the past few days was back up, shutting out Liam and the rest of the world. But Liam didn't want to be shut out. Zayn cut him off when he opened his mouth to speak. "Are you going to be my knight in shining armor, Liam? Is that what you think? Are you going to take me away from all this fucking bullshit and magically make everything ok?" His tone was biting, sarcasm dripping from his words. Liam frowned. "Nah, I'm way too fucked up for that," he said, shaking his head. He saw Zayn turn to him, surprised at his response. "But," he continued, taking Zayn's hand, "I guess we could be fucked up together," he finished, looking at Zayn hopefully. Zayn's eyes met his, searching. It occurred to Liam for the first time that maybe Zayn was just as terrified as he was. "I guess we could do that," Zayn said tentatively, grasping Liam's hand more firmly. "Okay," Liam said, nodding. "Okay," Zayn agreed. Liam thought, as they watched the sun rise from the deck, that it might not be running away, but it was something. And maybe, just maybe, it was enough.


End file.
